


Sock Skating

by littlescienceloves



Series: domestic!Fitzsimmons [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-25
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-26 23:19:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2670116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlescienceloves/pseuds/littlescienceloves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which domestic!Fitzsimmons go sock skating and Fitz needs to learn to be a bit more careful. Based on a tumblr prompt :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sock Skating

"Oh for heaven’s sake," Simmons muttered, staring at the glossed, wooden floor. "Fitz," she called out, standing at the door of their apartment. She loved that. Their apartment. It was such a pleasant thought that she almost forgot she was annoyed. Almost.

"Simmons," he answered from the other room.

"When I said it was your turn to clean, I meant do the dishes, pick up your clothes, maybe do some laundry. How did you even manage to wax the floor within the time it took me to run to the store?"

"But- I thought- see, I was thinking," he managed, walking over to meet her. 

The first thing she noticed was that he was holding a pair of blue, fuzzy socks. The second was that he had an equally fuzzy, purple set on his feet.

"We haven’t properly christened the place yet."

He had that dumb grin on his face. The one that made Simmons melt, rather against her will. The one that could get her to leave the groceries by the door and put on those blue socks and pretend, for just a bit, that it was just the two of them- no work, no hydra, no complications. That it was just like when they were in the academy, a little drunk, those same fuzzy socks, sliding along the dorm halls. Or later, in their new lab, the rest of the team asleep, trying to be very careful not to damage any of the equipment.

And then they were skating, hands locked together, fuzzy socks against the newly waxed floor. Creating intricate routines, narrated in their fake announcer voices. Discussing friction coefficients and coming up with increasingly harder equations for the other to solve. 

It was about an hour later. She had gone to turn on the kettle (and put away some of the perishables) when she heard the crash. 

"Oh, Fitz," she managed, before she even walked into the living room. 

And then she panicked. Because there he was on the floor and all she could picture was before, his curls against a hospital bed. Brain trauma. It was always his head, wasn’t it?

"I just slipped," he grumbled from the floor, rubbing the back of his head.

He sounded coherent, but she couldn’t be sure. She was very busy analyzing the way he propped himself up, the look in his eyes. So busy that she barely realized he had started talking again.

"I’m fine. Not even concussed, or anything. Nothing I can’t handle. See, I can even recite-" but he apparently forgot what he could recite, because suddenly Simmons was on top of him.

"Oy," he protested. 

"You need to be more careful," she scolded, her lips against his ear. 

"Mm-hmm," he gulped because he really couldn’t comprehend anything other than the fact that Simmons was straddling him.

"You know, I was thinking. We haven’t properly christened this floor," she said. 

He raised an eyebrow. “But that was the point of the sock ska- oh right, of course. Christened the floor. I see.”

They didn’t notice when the tea kettle went off. They were rather preoccupied attending to some very important apartment business. On the newly waxed floor.


End file.
